Burning Bridges
by CraashMotive
Summary: What if the Ministry of Magic isn't as safe as you thought it is? What if Voldemort had more influence than you understood? What if it was up to one girl who hardly knows who she is to prove all this? And what if she's not as safe as you think, either?


It was a cool, blustery sort of evening when a young, ragged woman ran deftly through the cobbled alleyways. Her breath came out in strangled wheezes, and sweat glimmered on her unwashed face. Her hair was fanned out behind her, stringy and dark with oil and grease. The woman's stomach was swollen, both from the lack of food she had consumed over the past week and the unborn child she was carrying.

"Mary, don't be foolish!" a thick voice behind her shouted. Her pursuer sounded out of breath as well; they'd been running a long while. Mary did not look back, but attempted to pick up speed. She knew who was behind her, and did not want to find out how close he really was.

"Shut up!" she screamed, quickly darting out of the alley and into the empty streets. There was screaming all around her, but it was faint. She could smell the fire, not far off; the smoke and the smell of burning wood seared in her sinuses.

"You won't make it!" he yelled. She could hear that his voice was getting father off. Looking back, she saw he was slowing down, falling behind. She, too, slowed down, but only slightly. She would not count her blessings until she was out of harm's way.

But turning to look back was the last thing Mary Reinhardt should have done. She felt herself smack straight into the barrelled chest of another man, who snaked his arms around hers and clamped her to him. She struggled, but could not move.

"No, let go!" Mary shouted, trying to stamp on her captor's foot.

"Now, now, Reinhardt, play nicely," said the man in a smooth, almost calming voice.

"Let go of me!" she screamed, thrashing harder. "Rosier, let go!" And, to the best of her ability, Mary Reinhardt spun as hard as she could, and disappeared with a loud crack, taking Rosier with her.

She had apparated, coincidentally, in the musty, damp alley outside a Ministry of Magic back entrance. It was not, however, a rarely used one, and the short scream Mary managed to give off before Rosier clamped his hand over her mouth was alerting enough.

About five Aurors managed to congregate, wands out, unable to strike for fear of hitting the heavily pregnant hostage. It was clear they were at an advantage, however.

"Ah, Evan, how nice to see you," one said pleasantly. Rosier sneered, muttering something about filth and Mudbloods.

"Help me," Mary whispered pathetically. One told her they were trying, until Mary cut in. "I need a hospital, I need…"

Whatever else she needed, she wasn't able to express. All of a sudden she lost consciousness and, not expecting the increase in weight, Rosier let her slip to the ground with a dull thunk. The Aurors struck then, but Rosier managed to pull his wand in time to fight back. He shot a silent hex at one Auror, and took a very noticeable piece out of the man's nose.

A handful of hexes, curses, and counter-jinxes later, Evan Rosier was on his way to Azkaban to await trial, and Mary Reinhardt was rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where she died only minutes after giving birth and naming her child.

_The child,_ writes Rita Skeeter, intern, _was kept in St. Mungo's until it was thoroughly checked that there were no other living relatives besides the baby's father, well-known Death Eater Rabastan Lestrange. What a Ministry of Magic official was doing with a Death Eater, we may never find out, but it may be time for the Ministry to look more carefully at their employees. As of now, the newborn child has been sent to an undisclosed orphanage in London. _

Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge folded up the paper with trembling fingers, and laid it back upon the desk. "This is no good," he muttered shakily, pacing back and forth upon stubby legs. "This is very, very bad." He then looked up at the cloaked man seated in the chair before Fudge's desk.

"Have you found the child? Do you know where she is?" he asked hopefully.

"No, Minister," the other man replied, flicking his wand between his fingers. "But we're looking."

"We can't let her up and ruin everything we've worked for!" Fudge cried, stomping his foot like a child. "Reinhardt's already made a mess, and we'll have to cover that, but that child… she'll know everything! There's no way she'll be kept in the dark once she grows up, heads off to school…"

"Unless she doesn't know who she is," the hooded man said, his voice cold and controlled. "There are thousands of children in that orphanage. And all we need is a memory modifying charm on the matrons."

Fudge stopped pacing, and it was if a light went off in his head. "Brilliant, McNair!" he complimented. "Go as soon as you can. Turn her into anyone, just do it fast. I'll work on covering this blasted story up. Chalk it up to a rumour, claim Reinhardt was Imperiused..."

McNair rose from his seat silently and swiftly left the office. Fudge sat down behind his desk, once more going over the short paragraph that could ruin everything.


End file.
